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Dimensional Crossing

First post is for world info and such. I'll update it whenever-ish.

In the middle of a space-like abyss, there is a rock, but this rock isn't just any rock, it's a special one known as the Dimensional Crossing. On this rock there is a place called The Abyss Tavern, it's a magical building that no matter how much damage it takes, it cannot be destroyed, for it repairs itself. And yet that's still not what make this rock special, nor is it the beings who mingle within the tavern. No, what makes this place special is (as the name suggests) is that this rock is where to portals to thousands of worlds and dimensions intersect. You can go to more places than you can comprehend, but there's one catch, you have to find the portal to get here first. After that though, you'll be able to open a temporary portal back to the Crossing whenever you wish.

Since Solly asked, if you walk/run/jump off of the rock, you fall into a portal, reappear about twenty feet above the rock, and if your character can't fly/levitate you land painfully in front of the tavern. Pretty much same rule applies if you try flying away from the rock.

Rules:
No God Powers. Only certain NPCs will be allowed god powers. As the creator of this RP, I reserve the right to give this powers to characters as I see fit. (Yes, I'll have a god-like power to use on a very rare occasion)

Immortality okay, Invincibility not okay. To clarify, an immortal person can still die by blade or poison.

No taking creatures outside of their realms, there is one exception to this, if you go to the pokemon world you can have one (1) non-legendary partner that can go to other realms with you. I'll probably add a register of characters and their partner pokemon if that becomes popular.

No advanced tech in primitive worlds. For example, no lasers in the middle ages.

NPCs and god power if any:
The Bartender (invincibilty). This ancient man actually looks quite young and handsom, but hey, you really can't age when you're a ghost.

Known Worlds:
The Pokemon world.
This Earth. (you can choose any time period here)
Mergia
The Pirates World

Last edited by Shadow; 03-05-2009 at 11:32 AM.

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

This post is for character information. Please give an ooc description of your character in your first post with that character.

Played by Shadow:

Shadow from a destroyed land, unknown year.
Age: 17

Weapons and abilities: He wields a sword rumored to have been forged from pure darkness, although he rarely uses it, preferring instead to use his dark energy powers which are best described as a cross between magic and lucario's aura abilities.. The one downside to his powers is that to keep control of them he has to meditate daily. He also has the ability levitate and to sense things.

Appearance: He has pale skin, although he shows little of it. He has dark purple-ish eyes and semi-long black hair. He wears a short sleeve black shirt, loose black pants, black cloth boots, and a black cloak. Around his waist there is a chain of round red gemstones, and at his side there is a jet black double-edged longsword.

Nature: Because his emotions effect his powers so much, he is usually apathetic and calm, rarely getting worked up about anything.

History: At 17 he is one of only two known survivors from his home world.

Appearance: Long black hair, tied back into a ponytail. Narrow, pale grey eyes. Lightly built and agile. Wears an open oil-stained white dress shirt with one sleeve torn off and they other torn short, blue-green trousers with plenty of pockets and heavy black boots. Always carries a few screwdrivers and spanners on a belt.

Physical Description: Carries katana with hilt on the right in red wooden scabbard attached to back of sash, which in turn is tied around his waist. The three leather pouches are tied to the sash on his left side. The bandana is worn folded as a strip across his forehead, tied at the back. Underneath his hanfu he wears a pair of tight cotton shorts and his leather pistol holster, which hangs on his right with the strap across his chest. Wraps a cotton strip around his right hand and forearm, leaving the fingers and thumb free. Charred Gloves are blackened white cotton with singed edges, fingerless, and worn over the cotton strip. The Mark of Khorne is a bronze pendant hanging from a bronze chain. He wears it over his hanfu.

Personality: Rash and impulsive, he'll dive into a fight at a moments notice, although he's not adverse to exchanging bullets when necessary. He also likes to focus on the bright side of things and help people out, and he'd do almost anything for a pretty lady. However, he can also be short-tempered and easily distracted.

History: A sparring partner of Kitsa Tangeforte, who's accompanying her on her adventures. Born in Dublin, he lived with his parents and two siblings until he turned fifteen, when he left to explore the wider world. He learned how to wield a sword when he ended up in Japan two years later, which is where he also received his katana. At the same time he was gifted a beautiful grey and red kimono, but this became heavily damaged during another adventure and so was replaced with a hanfu he chanced upon at a market in London, while the kimono has been carefully locked away. He prefers to wear the hanfu when using the katana rather than different clothing. After he returned from Japan he met Kitsa, who challenged him to a duel, which was inconclusive. Since then they have fought many times, and only once has Kitsa beaten him, although he does not accept this as he was distracted at the time. Despite this Kitsa has begun calling him Ervan McNinja in recognition of his skills at evading her. In the last year or so he has been learning how to use a gun with help from Camilla, as well as taking a crash course in first aid after his last adventure. He also discovered that setting himself on fire was an effective means of avoiding restraint during a bar-fight a few weeks ago.

Appearance:
Tall, thin, blond, large sapphire eyes, immortal. While she is actually just over 149 years old, she doesn't appear more than perhaps 22 at best. Her voice has a soft French accent that blends perfectly with her southern way of being kind to vowels. Occasionally she mixes French with English unconsciously.

Equipment:
Voodoo herbs and whatnot
Stiletto poison daggers hidden sheathed in her boots
.45 Colt Magnum and
.44 Colt Anaconda, both with custom ivory grips in her gun belt with the sights filed down.
M24 Sniper Weapon System in the case she carries by her side. (its a Remington 700 rifle she liberated from an ex-boyfriend who happened to be a Navy Seal.)

History:
Born to Marie Laveau II in New Orleans in 1847, she's been around the block a time or two. During the civil war to avoid taking sides she fled to Texas where she picked up the use of six shooters and took up the 'hobby' of executing hits and dueling with her pistols just for kicks. Eventually she moved back to New Orleans and has ran the Laveau Funeral Parlor for the past 72 years. Sometimes people still come to her for hits, for a love potion, or a hex to throw on one they hate, but mostly the business stays quiet, and boring.

Belief in the old arts are dwindling, people turn to their computers for answers instead of to their priestess.

She doesn't know how her immortality works, maybe it has something to do with coming from a long line of Voodoo priestesses?

Name: Rahvin
Original Dimension: Spain, Pirates World
Original Time: 17th century

Lyrt has a wiry build. He has long arms, long legs, and piercing blue eyes. His hair is a brown, and his nose has a nice bend to it. Of course, adhering to the assassin's outfitting of his society, Lyrt wears a mask over his mouth and is completely covered in black except for the red on the edges of his gloves and the green at his feet. He is around 5"8 and has gotten into the habit of walking stealthily (this also helps with bird watching). He wears a black belt around his waist. Unmasked, one can see his mouth. The eye-teeth are pointed, similar to a vampire's, a norm for all assassin's of Mergia. On his sleeves one can see the Mergian crest, denoting him a special servant of the Mergian royal family.

Equipment:
One small air pistol
A taser
A Mergian Army Utility Tool (MAUT), an equivalent of the Swiss-Army Knife except with a few more useful tools
A small camera droid
Z-mega stealth rifle, a Mergian specialty weapon only given to royal assassins of the highest order
Invisibility remote (Anyone who can afford it can have nano-sensors and transmitters surgically transplanted throughout their skin, which can then be activated by remote. The sensors send signals to the transmitters, who then create a certain wave signal depending on the air or water the person is in, which causes the light to bend around the person, thus making them invisible. Higher assassin suits also come lined with this)
One nuclear detonator

Played by PokemonMasterSean13:
Vincent Hawksong from Earth 1, sometime in the future

Appearance:
Tall about 5 11', thin, moonlight silver hair color, striking hazel eyes. Immortal? (No one has killed him yet atleast, not even time itself.) His age is unknown, even to himself, but he doesn't look a day past 22. His voice is, at times, sharper than the blades he carrys with him. To many though, his voice is like an angels, so beutiful, so whimsical...so sad. When he wants something, his tone of voice is very sing-songy. He has the abilty to hypnotise many with his voice, he's able to take them to places they have only drempt of, that's why he is such a good traveling story teller. (And a big reason why women fall for him all the time, although he has no interest in the trivial "high school hook-up." He dresses in cyberian punk attair on his leasure, but depending on the situation he is in, his clothing chnages as well. He has 3 peircings on his right ear lobe and 1 on his left ear lobe along with two more peircing on his left ear on the cartlige. He has a tattoo of a "V" with a cirle around it on his right shoulder. He wears a peculiar necklace around his neck, and allows no one to touch it; where the necklace came from or why he wheres it he will never tell.

Out on a mission of some-sort.

Leisure attire. (Disregard name on picture, and scar on forehead.)

Tattoo design on right shoulder.

Equipment:
Two wooden handled blades on each hip.

Italian Switchblade Silhouette

One Mateba Revolver in coat

Swiss Mini Gun Revolver key chain (These are sthe smallest guns in the world, and still can kill you if shot in temple or heart)

A leather flashy jacket with weapons/regular pockets on the inside.

Skullcandy Headphones (Always having 3 bullets in them for reason unknown to any but Vincent.)

Death Zippo Lighter

Last but not least...A pack of Marlboro Menthol cigarettes. (AWLAYS)

Background:

Little is known about Vincent in the tavern. The bar tender knows best not to talk about others buisness, exspecially about Vincent's, but whenever asked the bartender replies something around the terms of, "Vincent is Vincent, he comes and goes as he pleases; going into the oddest of portals and dimensions---for whatever reason is beyond me. I don't remember when he started coming, but I know he's come for a while. He's quite the story teller though, and a demon with his knives; but he causes little to no trouble so he's alright in my book. If you want to know more, talk to him yourself." The bar tender knows a little bit more but he would never delve into someone's history other than that.

There is something very off about Vincent, but this draws so many to him. It's like he's asleep, looking at a dream, he has a very lilting way of walking. He just sits at the bar sometimes for hours, looking at a faded picture he carries with him always. As said before, because of his mysterious nature, many are drown to him, rarely does he ask someone to come to him. He doesn't mind having people come to him, he is a traveling story teller after all, they pay him for a story here and there and then as quietly as he came into he bar he disappears.

The fact is Vincent doesn't know much about himself either, he barely understand how he found this tavern and the demential portals. One thing he knows for sure is he has to find...........

So he travels from dimension and dimension to carry out his search for..........

Equipment List:
Armour- Armor is for the weak. Cho'kar wears a loincloth
Jewellery- A necklace of raptor talons.
Weapons: A pair of bone handled Khukris- The Fangs of the Hunter.

Physical Description: Cho'kar cuts a savage figure, tall and wiry with massive black dreadlocks. He wears only a few animal skins and a variety of fetishes, beads, and animal parts. His skin is a pale green, bordering on grayish. His jaw is strong and sports the fanged underbite common to orcs. He also wears a small leather satchel across his chest, who knows what grisly trophies are there.

Personality: Cho'kar is mostly silent, prefering the company of beasts to men. He does however love stories. He is a wonderful listener and collects tales from all over the world. If he put his mind to it, he would also be a powerful storyteller. With the natural storytelling talents learned at the foot of his tribal elders, a deep, commanding, voice, and a naturally exotic flair, it would be difficult not to listen to Cho'Kar's stories. As of yet though, he has not tried it. He seeks for the Great Beasts, looking for their blessing so that he might be the True Beastlord, a legendary hero that only appears once every 20 generations.

Combat Arts or Spells:

Bundolo! Kreegah! (6 pp) Cho'Kar grapples, with his opponent, eventually emerging behind, legs wrapped around the enemy's torso, both khukri's are brought up and to the throat, touch briefly and rip away, generally taking most of the neck with them.

Tame: (10pp) Cho'kar locks eyes with a beast of the wild and through the silent arts handed down by his tribe he befriends the beast, making it his willing ally.

History: Cho'Kar was raised from birth to follow the teaching of his tribe. He came from a long line of powerful Beast Tamers. He listened intently at the foot of the elders as they told the stories of famous tamers, the legends of the greatest headsmen and most importantly of all, the tales of the Great Beasts- Legendary creatures that only a few in the long oral history of his people had ever managed to tame. In time, he grew up to be a successful tamer in his own right, but he was restless, and grew weary of incessant tribal warfare. And also there were the Great Beasts... they were out there somewhere, waiting for the Greatest tamer of all time to step forward and meet with them, gain their knowledge and their blessings and become the true Beastlord. And so Cho'kar set out, he headed north along the Nile to Ygipt, from their catching a ship and sailing around Greece and eventually north toward the British Isles. It was there that he was shipwrecked. He has been wandering the beaches, looking for a way to his next adventure, comrades, or a great challenge. etc. See Pirates for more details!

Last edited by Shadow; 03-06-2009 at 12:48 PM.

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

The portal ripples, out of it steps a young man, back from another fruitless search for other survivors from his destroyed homeland. As he heads to the bar a ruffian gets sent flying out the window. "It's idiot like him that give us the need for the dimensional patrol.", he said, looking on with slight distaste. He continued inside the bar and, ignoring the mind numbing noise, walked up to the bartender. "I'll have the usual.", he said. "Shadow! Been a while, hasn't it?", the bartender asked, "I was starting to think you forgot about me". "No, I've been busy, I take it my usual room is open?" Shadow asked. "Yep, you know there ain't anyone been brave enough to go in there since you 'redecorated' it, they'd rather sleep outside. Anyway, here you go, I think you're about the only guy that orders herbal tea, most everyone else wants to drown in the rum.", the bartender said. Knowing that Shadow was done talking, the bartender returned to his work. Shadow then went to sit down by the fireplace.

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

Appearance: Long black hair, tied back into a ponytail. Narrow, pale grey eyes. Lightly built and agile. Wears an open oil-stained white dress shirt with one sleeve torn off and they other torn short, blue-green trousers with plenty of pockets and heavy black boots. Always carries a few screwdrivers and spanners on a belt.

Ankerid put down his spanner and sighed. "Look," he said, "I'm not saying it's impossible, but it will take a while, okay? I haven't seen anything like this before."
"I thought you said you were the best."
"Oh, I am," replied Ankerid, smiling. "In general. In some cases you're better off with the manufacturer, but something tells me you won't be going back to them." He fiddled around with some wires, then slid out from underneath the vehicle and put his tools away. "Okay, I'm done for today. Come back tomorrow and we'll see if I've made any progress." He led his customer out of the garage, locking the door behind him. "Hey now, don't give me that look. I'll get it done, really."
"You better," replied the customer, walking away.
Ankerid waited until he slipped out of view, then sighed again. "Always with the demands... Still, good money in it." He checked his watch. "Enough time for a drink or two..." He took a step forward, not seeing the slight shimmer in the air, and disappeared.

Appearance:
Tall, thin, blond, large sapphire eyes, immortal. While she is actually just over 149 years old, she doesn't appear more than perhaps 22 at best. Her voice has a soft French accent that blends perfectly with her southern way of being kind to vowels. Occasionally she mixes French with English unconsciously.

Equipment:
Voodoo herbs and whatnot
Stiletto poison daggers hidden sheathed in her boots
.45 Colt Magnum and
.44 Colt Anaconda, both with custom ivory grips in her gun belt with the sights filed down.
M24 Sniper Weapon System in the case she carries by her side. (its a Remington 700 rifle she liberated from an ex-boyfriend who happened to be a Navy Seal.)

History:
Born to Marie Laveau II in New Orleans in 1847, she's been around the block a time or two. During the civil war to avoid taking sides she fled to Texas where she picked up the use of six shooters and took up the 'hobby' of executing hits and dueling with her pistols just for kicks. Eventually she moved back to New Orleans and has ran the Laveau Funeral Parlor for the past 72 years. Sometimes people still come to her for hits, for a love potion, or a hex to throw on one they hate, but mostly the business stays quiet, and boring.

Belief in the old arts are dwindling, people turn to their computers for answers instead of to their priestess.

She doesn't know how her immortality works, maybe it has something to do with coming from a long line of Voodoo priestesses?

Inez woke up slowly, stretching languorously. Not bothering to open her eyes right away she just enjoyed the feeling of being in that cozy state between awake and asleep. Sometimes it was a horrible thing to have to wake up, her dreams took her to far more interesting places. She had just been dreaming of a mystical tavern on some floating asteroid in space. What a fantastic dream!

Her bed was comfortable and warm, but finally she had to open her eyes... To discover that she was in fact, not in her bed. And she was naked. She lay in a pale pink canopy bed, the equally pink coverlet was covered in frills, embroidery and lace. Beside the bed stood a carved cherry wood nightstand, on it burned a half melted candle and a pitcher and bowl which was also pink with lovely little flowers painted all over it. It made her want to gag. Where the fuck was she? Looking around she found more heavy cherry furniture with delicately arching French legs and ornate carving, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a vanity, a chair padded pink. The legs were so thin and graceful she half thought they may prance away like a gazelle.

Clutching the coverlet to her she wandered around the room running her fingers over the furniture, enjoying the way the smooth carving flowed under her fingers. Smiling a little at the lace trimmed cushion at the vanity bench, she decided maybe the pink was an alright thing after all. Soon she discovered that the armoire held her weapons, shoes and boots and in the chest of drawers rested all the clothing she had preferred from every time period in which she had lived, perfectly tailored to fit her form.

Quickly she pulled on the buckskin mini skirt and matching shirt that fit like a second skin which she had worn in her wild west days. Hopping on one foot then the other she tugged her boots on and slid the stilettos into the sheaths down the outer edge of her calves.

Finally fully clothed she cautiously poked her head into the dark hall and looked in either direction. All clear. Quick reconnaissance informed her that at either end of the hall was a staircase that descended into a well lit room. Choosing the stairway to the left she slowly made her way into what proved to be a barroom.

Looking around curiously she sidled onto a stool at the far end of the bar. It seemed to be the best vantage point for keeping her eye on the occupants of the room, and a stranger crowd she had never observed.

When the barkeep approached her she asked, “Bonjour cher, don't suppose you have any good bourbon back there, do you?” Wordlessly he grabbed a glass from beneath the bar and began to fill it with several fingers of amber liquid. “Oui, that is the stuff, darlin'! Merci, merci.”

She gulped down several swallows of the fiery liquid before going on, “My name is Inez Marie Lavaeu-Temple but you can call me anything you want, cher.” She winked with a cheeky grin. “Could you possibly tell me where in the name of the Holy Virgin I am? I went to sleep last night in my very own bed, cher. And here I wake up, in the middle of this godless place.”

Looking around with wide, innocent eyes, “It has to be a dream, is this a dream? This don't taste like no dream bourbon.” she said, hastily downing the drink and turning the glass upside down on the bar. “You got anything softer back there? Maybe a bellini or some other girly foofoo drink that might make me look a little less masculine?”

Crossing her long, tan legs she smiled around the room before clamping her blue eyes on the barkeep, waiting patiently for an explanation.

Amee went from table to table as every night. Watching every person that comes in the bar. She walked behind the bar and around the bartender looking around for people that might need something.

A man in an office suit walked in the bar and sat in the middle of the bar and called her over.

"How can I help you sir?" she leaned over the bar slightly.
"Yes, can you please make me a drink?" he begged with green eyes.
"I'm sorry sir, thats the bartenders job. I don't really know anything about running the drinks," She pulled away from the bar and looked over at a table where someone was calling for her, "sorry, sir, but for now I have to go." She ran from behind the bar and over to the table.
"Yes ma'am? What can I do for you?" she bowed slightly.
"Can you please get me somemore fries?" the woman handed Amee the basket that the fries came in.
"Yes ma'am, right away" Amee ran back to the kitchen and was out in minutes with fresh, hot fries. she ran them out to the woman and went back behind the bar and sat in a small chair to rest. She had been up on her feet the whole day.
She glanced over at the clock. Six p.m., time to quit!
"Sir I'm leaving!" She called over her shoulder, almost out the door.
"Amee please work another shift. Marissa called in sick and I need some cover for her. Sorry its short notice."
"Sure, sir." she sighed and sat behind the bar again, waiting on someone to call.

Lyrt has a wiry build. He has long arms, long legs, and piercing blue eyes. His hair is a brown, and his nose has a nice bend to it. Of course, adhering to the assassin's outfitting of his society, Lyrt wears a mask over his mouth and is completely covered in black except for the red on the edges of his gloves and the green at his feet. He is around 5"8 and has gotten into the habit of walking stealthily (this also helps with bird watching). He wears a black belt around his waist. Unmasked, one can see his mouth. The eye-teeth are pointed, similar to a vampire's, a norm for all assassin's of Mergia. On his sleeves one can see the Mergian crest, denoting him a special servant of the Mergian royal family.

Equipment:
One small air pistol
A taser
A Mergian Army Utility Tool (MAUT), an equivalent of the Swiss-Army Knife except with a few more useful tools
A small camera droid
Z-mega stealth rifle, a Mergian specialty weapon only given to royal assassins of the highest order
Invisibility remote (Anyone who can afford it can have nano-sensors and transmitters surgically transplanted throughout their skin, which can then be activated by remote. The sensors send signals to the transmitters, who then create a certain wave signal depending on the air or water the person is in, which causes the light to bend around the person, thus making them invisible. Higher assassin suits also come lined with this)
One nuclear detonator

So many birds to look at, so little time. Lyrt always liked using cliches from old cinemas. The new ones were always so dull My heat transponder is cold. God, who actually says that? And it sounds so terrible. Luckily, being able to travel to any time make it a lot easier to find the right one. Lyrt always thought about looking for good ones in the future, but he never went there. He was too scared. In his opinion, tampering with the future was much worse than tampering with the past. Besides, he knows what happens in the past, but what if he went into the future at the moment of a nuclear explosion? Of course, none had gone off since WWIV, but there was still likely to be another World War. From what he'd seen, all humans were the same. Kill him! Kill her! Do it fast, and I'll make it worth your while. God, what cretins. All of them.

Despite this lack of humanity in humans, Lyrt was still quite happy to assassinate. It was an easy way to blow off pressure. WHAT a way to blow off pressure. "Bartender, pass me an alcoholic b- booze, please. You choose." Lyrt smiled under his mask at his nice use of old terms. He wondered if he really was as clever and quick-witted as he thought. I am an assassin, I must remain confident. Lyrt told his automatic sub-conscious response mechanism to shut the fuck up and stop being such a fucking fuddy-duddy.

Lyrt thanked the bartender for his pint of brandy and gave him a credit for his troubles. Lyrt wasn't sure whether he actually had to pay, the man-... thing didn't speak much to him, but Lyrt gave the bartender money anyways, just in case. Who knew what kind of supernatural phenomena this strange entity hosted. Probably an atomic bazooka, judging by the look he gave some fellows sometimes. Lyrt turned his head at the bartender's voice to see him conversing with one of those dimensional patrol people. Who pays them, anyways? Surely not the bartender.

Lyrt turned his attention to the conversation going on between the woman sitting beside him and the bartender, although the only one talking was the woman. Lyrt looked at the woman more closely. The way her eyes moved, and how she wore her projectile weapon. Yes, she was definitely an assassin, although she did not have the dressing for it. Maybe this was an old style of assassin. As far as Lyrt could tell, the style seemed to be of the Wild west, which he recognized from many movies and holograms he watched. A few were even being produced at his day. Well, one thing was given, she sure had big boobs.

Lyrt decided to make conversation, because he knew the bartender never talked too much to someone who hasn't been coming for 30 years or so. "Are you an assassin?"

"Why sir! You shock me. What a leading question! Whatever could have given you such an idea?" Inez replied, smiling winningly then giggling she lightly touching his arm. "I'm just a southern belle out for a night on the town. I do not recall our meeting in the past, and I am certain I would not forget a man so handsome as yourself. You may call me Inez. Un plaisir pour vous rencontrer, mon cher. ”

Extending her had to be kissed she curtsied and fluttered her lashes at the man, grinning so to make a dimple appear in her cheek, “I don't suppose you know where we are at the moment? I seem to have found myself in the strangest predicament... I woke up here darlin', but this is not where I went to sleep. And, I surely do not remember going on one of my famous benders last night.”

Ankerid opened his eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling looked down at him.
"... Hi?" he said.
"Good morning," replied the ceiling.
"I... Uh..." Ankerid sat up.
"Problem, sweetie?" asked the ceiling. She had a nice voice. Calm, soothing.
"I'm not used to my ceiling talking to me. Or looking at me, for that matter."
The ceiling closed her eyes and sighed. "Always the same..."
"What?"
She looked at him. "I don't get to talk to many people, and they always seem to treat me the same. A ceiling can have feelings too, you know."
"Uh..."
"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, smiling vaguely. "It's only been a few years since I last talked to someone. I'm sure I can wait a few more."
"Well, uh, I don't... I mean, I wouldn't mind..." Ankerid tried to gather his thoughts.
"That's sweet of you, dear, but don't worry about me. I'm sure a handsome young thing like yourself has better things to do with his time than talk to the ceiling."
Ankerid blushed a little. "Oh, uh, thank you."
"You're welcome, honey." She closed her eyes again, and seemed to fall asleep.
Ankerid stared up at the ceiling. "Where the hell am I?" he mumbled.

Appearance:
Tall about 5 11', thin, moonlight silver hair color, striking hazel eyes. Immortal? (No one has killed him yet atleast, not even time itself.) His age is unknown, even to himself, but he doesn't look a day past 22. His voice is, at times, sharper than the blades he carrys with him. To many though, his voice is like an angels, so beutiful, so whimsical...so sad. When he wants something, his tone of voice is very sing-songy. He has the abilty to hypnotise many with his voice, he's able to take them to places they have only drempt of, that's why he is such a good traveling story teller. (And a big reason why women fall for him all the time, although he has no interest in the trivial "high school hook-up." He dresses in cyberian punk attair on his leasure, but depending on the situation he is in, his clothing chnages as well. He has 3 peircings on his right ear lobe and 1 on his left ear lobe along with two more peircing on his left ear on the cartlige. He has a tattoo of a "V" with a cirle around it on his right shoulder. He wears a peculiar necklace around his neck, and allows no one to touch it; where the necklace came from or why he wheres it he will never tell.

Out on a mission of some-sort.

Leisure attire. (Disregard name on picture, and scar on forehead.)

Tattoo design on right shoulder.

Equipment:
Two wooden handled blades on each hip.

Italian Switchblade Silhouette

One Mateba Revolver in coat

Swiss Mini Gun Revolver key chain (These are sthe smallest guns in the world, and still can kill you if shot in temple or heart)

A leather flashy jacket with weapons/regular pockets on the inside.

Skullcandy Headphones (Always having 3 bullets in them for reason unknown to any but Vincent.)

Death Zippo Lighter

Last but not least...A pack of Marlboro Menthol cigarettes. (AWLAYS)

Background:

Little is known about Vincent in the tavern. The bar tender knows best not to talk about others buisness, exspecially about Vincent's, but whenever asked the bartender replies something around the terms of, "Vincent is Vincent, he comes and goes as he pleases; going into the oddest of portals and dimensions---for whatever reason is beyond me. I don't remember when he started coming, but I know he's come for a while. He's quite the story teller though, and a demon with his knives; but he causes little to no trouble so he's alright in my book. If you want to know more, talk to him yourself." The bar tender knows a little bit more but he would never delve into someone's history other than that.

There is something very off about Vincent, but this draws so many to him. It's like he's asleep, looking at a dream, he has a very lilting way of walking. He just sits at the bar sometimes for hours, looking at a faded picture he carries with him always. As said before, because of his mysterious nature, many are drown to him, rarely does he ask someone to come to him. He doesn't mind having people come to him, he is a traveling story teller after all, they pay him for a story here and there and then as quietly as he came into he bar he disappears.

The fact is Vincent doesn't know much about himself either, he barely understand how he found this tavern and the demential portals. One thing he knows for sure is he has to find...........

So he travels from dimension and dimension to carry out his search for..........

I MAKE FUCKIN' AWESOME CHARACTER PROFILES YO'!

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ic:

Vincent knew the warp portal tunnel that led back to the tavern was going light years fast, but yet the universe seemed to be moving so slow around him. Granted the world, the universe rather, doesn't change much in 400 years, but looking at everything go by, barely changing, made Vincent be reminded how trivial his search was in the larger scale of things in the cosmos. Alas, he would still go on in anycase, until he breathed his last breathe.

As the warp portal reached the tavern he was realved to know he'd be able to finally relax, Tortuga in the 1700's isn't what he would call a restful place to be.

Vincent walked to the tavern and noticed a moaning man on the ground near the entrance of the tavern with glass shards all over him.

No doubt a roughen thrown from the bar. Vincent thought to himself.

Vincent was about to walk in bar but heard the man on the ground mumble, "Oh God, why must life be so cruel...what a curse these portals are."

Vincent sighed to himself, "What a curse indeed, my friend." Vincent then walked into the bar.

As Vincent walkd into the bar, he could hear the bar tender telling a cute little thing that she had to stay late. He chuckled to himself at the sight of the Steel Claymore she carried.

"You don't see pretty little things like that carrying a Claymore all that much." Vincent said to himself.

As always, Vincent did what he usually did when he walked into most buildings, he took a cigarette out of his jacket and lit it with his Death Zippo lighter---and while doing so, he scoped who was in the bar.

The bar wasn't as busy as it used to be, not after the new regulations the Dimension Patrols put on portal hopping---pigs. He saw a man at the fire place, somberly drinking whatever concotion he had. The man had a long bladed sword, the typical weapon seen around the tavern. What caught Vincents eyes though, was the gem stones the man was wearing around his wrist.

Vincent lightly laughed and thought to himself,"Ah, so that's what you are. Tough luck though, the tavern makes most spells useless in these walls, well the deadly ones anyways. You'll be no threat to me, sorcerer."

Vincent took another drag and started to step away from the doorway and towards the bar. He saw a ninja like man talking to a very large breasted woman; both of which wielded some sort of fire arms.

Vincent grinned and thought to himself,"You two better be good little boys and girls, don't want to take your lives in a place like this, it's no fun."

The rest of the customers in the bar were drunk buffoons that didn't have any sort of weapons on them, well noticable ones at least and the three he did notice didn't seem too much of a threat to Vincent. So, he decided to sit at the bar and ask the good old bar tender, who had his back turned away from the booths drying out bar glasses, for a drink.

"Yo old head," Vincent said, "Get me three shots of Jim Bean Bourbon will ya, I need to unwind."

The bar tender didn't even look to see who was talking, no one can forget Vincent's voice, "So look who's still alive. They said you bit the dust trying to ki...," the bar tender paused realizing he shouldn't say to much, he continued with, "Well, I'm glad you ain't dead Vincent."

Vincent took the last drag of his cigarette and put the but on the ash tray that was on the counter. He didn't respond to the bar tenders words and just said, "Three shots of Jim Bean Bourbon bar tender."

The bar tender sighed and nodded his head, drying the glass, and then headed toward the back to get the bourben.

Vincent took a deep sigh and thought to himself, "Am I really alive? Is this search what you call living?"

Vincent broke out of the trance when the bar tender came back and told him the last bit of Jim Bean Bourben was just poored for the women with the big boobs.

He then offered Vincent another brand of bourben but Vincent looked the bar tender in the eyes, and said, "Dumbass, that stuff tastes like piss water. Just give me a Jack on the rocks and a Coors will ya." Vincent paused to get another cigarette out of his coat and lit it while taking a long drag and then looked at the bar tender again and said, "And that's on the house, right, cause' that ain't what I first ordered." Not pushing his luck, the bar tender nodded and gave Vincent his drinks.

Vincent sipped on the Jack on the rocks and noticed the Claymore girl behind the bar, looking very sad, most liely because she had to work another shift---life sucks, live with it, Vincent thought. For some reason, he couldn't stop staring at the waitress girl. Vincent too a drag of the cigarette he had and drank down the rest of the Jack and started on his beer before deciding to get the little vixen to come other---out of curiosity of course. Vincent laughed to himself because he was used to having people ask him to come to them or have them just come to him, not him asking for people to come. But he decided to anyways.

Vincent yelled across the bar, "Hey, Claymore girl, come here!"

OOC: DAMMNNNNNN I wrote alot. I got everyone that was in the bar in this so havve funnnnnn.

Shadow stood up, gem belt hanging at an angle like always. He returned the cup to the counter and gave the bartender a few coins, and took a look around. First to catch his eye was the waitress, "Looks like she has to work that extra shift again", Shadow thought. Next he spots the rough looking punk that he sensed sizing him up earlier. Shadow decided that he would try provoking him later if things got boring, "Sorcerer my ass.", he thought. Finally he laid eyes on the two assassins chatting it up, one of whom had large breasts. Wanting to find out if someone was stupid enough to try killing him again, he walked over to see them. As he neared he heard the female say "I woke up here darlin', but this is not where I went to sleep. And, I surely do not remember going on one of my famous benders last night.” Winking and giggling self deprecatingly, “Although... Anything is possible". “I'm sorry cher, but I do not believe I caught your name?” Shadow, ignoring the last question came up behind her silent as his name would imply and said, "That's how most people find this place for the first time, they get drunk or something, fall through a portal on accident, and wake up in a room upstairs".

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

After about an hour the ceiling spoke again. "Maybe you should go downstairs, honey."
"Downstairs?" asked Ankerid, looking up.
"Yes. Right now you're on the first floor of The Abyss Tavern, and downstairs is the bar. The bartender might be able to help you work out where you are."
"Oh. Thanks."
"You're welcome," said the ceiling, turning pale yellow.
Ankerid got up and opened the door. "Uh, bye..."
"See you later, sweetheart."
Ankerid closed the door and sighed. Was he being hit on by the ceiling of his room? No, that would be silly. He shook himself and headed for the stairs.

Eyes clamped on her target Inez felt a new aura enter her presence and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He piqued her curiosity, why white hair for one so young? Then she saw the flash of his lighter and the tarot on the side. Bad juju that, why would he carry that around with him? She was about to break away from the one who accused her of being an assassin when she felt someone approach from behind. Her hand had slid halfway to the dagger hidden in her boot before he spoke up.

Turning, Inez looked at the boy with sharp eyes but a sweet smile on her soft, pink lips.

“Darlin' you just might be the cutest little boy I ever did see! I just want to pinch your little cheek!” Inez twittered a laugh then extended her hand to run the back of her fingers from his temple to jaw with a wink, “And that is certainly an adorable story.”

She found it hard to believe a word of it however, “I think I would remember being drunk. It's like I said, cher. I went to sleep in my very own bed, in my own little mansion and woke up upstairs. Where is here, by the way?”

Fluttering her lashes like the empty headed little thing she was pretending to be, she 'unconsciously' adjusted the strap of her brazier to give her chest a little fluff. The less threatening they perceived her to be the better. Maybe she'd get one of them drunk enough to find out what was in their pockets. Maybe she wouldn't even have to get them drunk! She twittered another giggle and divided her attention between the two boys occasionally tossing a wink and a smile at the white haired death reveler.

Was it death he sought, or did he seek to avoid it? Perhaps he used the lighter as a talisman, or maybe more of a calling card... She couldn't imagine to guess and the intrigue was almost as exciting as the answer would be. And she would find out. Nothing escaped Miss Inez when she took it into her pretty little head to find it out.

Tossing the white haired man a come hither look she moistened her lips with her tongue and bit her bottom lip.

Ankerid entered the bar, his attention instantaneously drawn to the woman at the counter. He just stopped himself jumping over to her side immediately, but he couldn't help staring. He vaguely noticed that she had her eyes locked on someone else. He followed her gaze to a white haired man with a cigarette and a lighter. Something about him worried Ankerid, but he didn't know what exactly. He shook his head and went to sit down at the counter, waiting for the barman.

Shadow was taken aback at the "cute little boy" comment and was beginning to glare when he remembered he was a little too close to the assassin. "'Here', is known as the dimensional crossing, the place where portals to every world and dimension intersect.", Shadow said, "Now that you've been here once you can return anytime you wish". As the white haired punk walked over, Shadow noticed the lost looking guy walking down the stairs and called him over as well, saying "Another newcomer, might as well come join our little group here and make it five instead of four".

Last edited by Shadow; 03-04-2009 at 07:36 AM.

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

IC: Lyrt looked at the woman's hand for a moment. What was she trying to show him? There were no identifiable marks on it of any clan. Maybe it was ultra-violet? Then again, this woman was from the past, so she probably had different customs. Lyrt searched his memories for a woman holding her hand out from old cinemas. Immediately his mind came upon a few memories of men kissing a woman's outstretched arm. But is that what she meant? He didn't want to be rude. Does it matter? Lyrt smirked and lowered hsi mouth mask, and kissed her hand, "What language is that? French?" Lyrt paused for a moment, trying to remember, and concluded it was French. What an old and droll language to speak, "The name's Lyrt, Lyrt Maker," replied Lyrt, eplacing his mask. He didn't want the woman to see him scowl. Something about thsi obvious prostitute set him off. Maybe it was the fact that she was a prostitute and assassin.

Lyrt looked away, hoping not to continue the conversation. Luckily he was saved by a dimensional guard gliding in. Lyrt silently relaxed, and quietly edged away, eventually getting off his seat. He looked aroudn for a place to seat himself, but saw only a seat next to a rather dangerous looking and worrying fellow with a lighter. It was either that or sit next to a drunkard at teh fireplace who was throwing up. Lyrt had just gotten his suit washed, so he sighed and sat next to the white-haired fellow. Assassins were never very good at hand-to-hand combat.

OOC: Uh work was a bitch but I'm glad everyone is RPing so it's refreshing.

IC:

It took the bar waitress sometime to notice that Vincent was calling her over. Vincent smirked thinking that he doubts she is addressed as "Claymore girl" very often. Before the girl started to walk over Vincent noticed that the large breasted woman sitting across the bar was trying to exchange looks with him, winking here and there. She seemed to be awfully playful, no wonder she has a ninja, a sorcerer and a mechanic looking fellow who just came into the bar flocking around her.

Vincent chuckled and then thought to himself, "Haha, silly boys, that's no way to get a lady. Don't seem interested, seem indifferent---it'll drive the girl mad for you."

Vincent wasn't looking to interfere with the other mens "game" so he let the girl be flocked around by her, interesting company. One thing he did notice about the woman though is that she kept starring at his lighter.

"I wonder if you want me for a job," Vincent thought to himself, Most likely though, you have no idea why I carry such a lighter...I'm sure you'll be well aware of it eventually. Vincent lightly laughed to himself and took another drag of the cigarette, disregarding the obvious advances the woman was giving him. He noticed the sorcerer to wanted him to mingle, but mingling with a group of strangers wasn't always a good idea---it could always be a trap. Plus, Vincent was still annoyed that the woman drank the last of the Jim Bean Bourbon, he was still irritated to say the least.

Vincent finally got the Claymore girls attention to come over. As she was walking towards him he noticed the ninja like man that was talking to the woman decided to sit next to him. Now normally, Vincent would disregard a random person sitting next to him, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to many people today, other than the occasional pretty little thing or a well endowed woman, but Tortuga took allot out of him, so he was in no mood for male chit-chat. So, Vincent swiftly took out his knife that was on his hip and slammed the blade right on the counter of the bar. Oddly enough, the ninja did not flinch, but he got the hint and roomed somewhere else away from Vincent.

The Claymore girl on the other hand didn't seem to happy with blade in the counter and looked at it with a bit unease. Vincent grabbed the knifes handel and took it out of the counter, putting it back in the sheith. The Claymore girl still seemed unnerved, either because of the knife, or because of Vincent's demeanor in genral.

The Claymore girl managed to say, in a quite, nice voice,"Yes sir? Can I help you?"

Vincent looked up at the girl, to get a good look at her. It seemed she was doing the same.

Vincent smirked and thought to himself,"My my, what are you thinking little one?"

While Vincent was inspecting her, he noticed she had long hair as black and shimmery as a ravens feathers, her Claymore hung to her side, making her tilt just a small bit---no doubt because of the weapons weight Vincent thought. Right before Vincent was going to respond to the bar waitress he froze when he saw her eyes.

Without even thinking Vincent said, "The eyes of the bluest heaven, looks upon this dark soul in a hellish place like this...angel, do you know where I must go to finally end my journey and find......" Vincent paused and felt a burning sensation on his finger tips. He shook his head to break from the trance and noticed his cigarette was almost out and the flame was starting to get very close to his fingers. He quickly put the cigarette in the ash tray and lit a new one. After a long drag, and feeling very foolish about what he said to a mere bar waitress, he asked the Claymore girl, "What is your name, girl who wields a Claymore who also has eyes of heaven? And, why are you here, is such a place like this?"

Getting tired of the social interactions, Shadow decided it was time for some mischief or to go to his room. Spotting the strange necklace on the white haired punks neck, he chooses mischief. He walks toward the punk and stopping a few feet away asks, "Nice necklace, token of your home?". Not waiting for an answer, Shadow lifts his hand and an orb of black energy engulfs it, at the same time, the cold black energy erupts like fire around the necklace lifting it off of the punk's shoulders. As the punk stood up and began to draw a weapon, Shadow said, "Ah ah ah, play nice and I might give it back.", before disappearing into a pool energy and reappearing outside, necklace floating about fifteen feet of the ground.

"I can't explain just how it feels,
the thoughts of my premature burial.
Inside this oblong box I lie,
with the hope I'll be buried alive."

Vincent still engrossed with the interaction with the bar waitress, he noticed that the sorcerer was beginning to approach him. The man, boy rather, looked very peculiar and Vincent knew he was up to no good. The sorcerer eyes deceived him though and it was obvious that he was looking at Vincent's necklace. Knowing a little magic himself, seeing as he traveled to many places in time and picking up a few tricks, Vincent quietly chanted a simple illusion spell to hide his necklace somewhere else on his persin and had an imitation necklace appear around his neck.

Before the sorcerer got any closer Vincent smirked thinking to himself, "Silly boy, you think you're the first to try and steal something from me? It'll take more than cheap tricks to take this from my body."

Not trying to lead on that he knew what the sorcerer was planning, Vincent turned to the bar waitress again waiting for a response and then, while Vincent pretending to be caught off guard, the sorcerer casted his spell to take what he thought to be the real necklace. To try and let on that his real necklace was taken from him, to ensure that the boy would leave him be and go back to him menial trickery to someone less skilled than he, Vincent motioned for his blades. But when he did, the sorcerer said a not so clever line then disappeared. Vincent took note of the foolish actions the boy made---Vincent forgets nothing, no matter how small. As the imitation necklace floated in the air, the spell wore off and the fabricated illusion disappeared in the air and the real necklace returned to it's rightful home on Vincent's neck.

Vincent sighed and lightly said to himself, "Not even Merlin himself, the most powerful and wisest of all spell casters and sorcerers in any realm, could conjure a spell to relinquish this light weight, but a times seemed like the weight of a thousand suns, on my neck. Not only does this necklace has, certain rare qualities to it, but it also is literally impossible for it to be taken from me---while we're both alive...at least. Who knows, maybe if I go onto the next life, or... well if I go most likely so to will this necklace cease to be."

Vincent then remembered the words...those mystical, humming bird words the now shadowed memory figure said to him that placed this emblem necklace on him, so very---very long ago said, "As long as you and I both live, forever this necklace shall be with you...that is our eternal bond, now until the end of time."

Vincent shoock his head and spat a light curse and said under his breathe, "I'll get back for this soon boy, how dare you let me remember those words agian when I'm trying to unwind!"

Vincent took another drag of his cigarette, gazing again to the Claymore girl, waiting for a reply.